


Careful on the Stairs

by Leeva (leevazkai)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Existentialism, M/M, Major Character Injury, Slow Burn, Survival, it's for plot I promise, this is probably the fluffiest apocalypse fic ever jussayin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-08 13:25:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8846782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leevazkai/pseuds/Leeva
Summary: A dangerous virus breaks out in Sendai, and after the district is quarantined, Aone and Futakuchi are stuck with no probable means of escape.When fighting's not an option, they do their best to survive.(Or: Futakuchi questions a lot of things and Aone is always there to help him find the answers.)





	1. Prologue: Day 0

**Author's Note:**

> So this one has been in the works since a bit before Halloween...
> 
> There's also going to be a bit of art in this one, so it's definitely been a bit of an undertaking!
> 
> Some minor warnings for some horror elements, as well as injection anxiety, existential crises that question the point of living, and some injury and panic. I'll give an indicator of a double-asterisk (**) at the beginning of the scenes and a triple-asterisk (***) at the end so you can skip if needed, however, some of the existential stuff **has** to be left in because it's a major plot/character development point.
> 
> *This is an introduction chapter, so it's mostly just establishing stuff right now! Prepare yourselves for the slowest of burns~~

**Day 0**

 

Futakuchi Kenji _hates_ public transportation.

There’s just something about it -- maybe it’s the constant usage by complete strangers, or the unshakable feeling that it's a social space yet having exactly zero urge to actually be social, or maybe just the overhanging smell and greater risk of catching an illness that comes with groups of people just existing that irks him.

Needless to say, Futakuchi was not terribly excited to start taking a new bus line to work, not that he had much choice in the matter anyway, and he was not about to go crawling back to his old apartment to beg his ex to let him live with him again.

Futakuchi tries not to cringe too visibly as the far too crowded bus drags everything he hates about public transit to the surface; he pushes to the back of the bus, past the first open seat next to a woman coughing into her sleeve, until he notices that there’s only one other seat available.

"Is it alright if I sit here?" Futakuchi asks the large, white-haired man with an intimidating resting face sitting on the bench, almost expecting a rejection.

The other man just nods in return, and Futakuchi almost swears he saw his eyes light up just a little.

"Thanks." Futakuchi settles into the seat. He doesn’t try to push for conversation, and the other man returns to watching the city pass through the window. The silence is refreshing, Futakuchi admits.

 

Both Futakuchi and the silent stranger exit at the same stop, and Futakuchi continues his trek to work slightly relieved that this bus stop doesn’t have large crowds of people getting off at the same time like his subway stop had. His relief dies off quickly once he’s at work though, as his boss nags at him to stop being so sarcastic with clients on the phone and to stop holding his new promotion over the other employees. "You're just an assistant now, Futakuchi. There were a lot of people who applied for your spot, I could replace you easily," he reminds Futakuchi for the eighth time that day as Futakuchi straightens up his desk at the end of the day.

"Yeah, yeah. I know," Futakuchi stands, slinging his jacket over his shoulder and looking down at his much shorter boss, "but I get the job done and I get you what you want, so you won't."

"Just keep it in mind."

Futakuchi waves over his shoulder as he starts for the stairs to the lobby of the publishing house. "I will, don't worry."

Futakuchi curses inwardly at his confrontational habits, pausing only to complain under his breath about the creaking stairs at the bottom of the stairwell. (He’s fully aware of the fact that he could just take the elevator, but it was always crowded at the end of the day with employees leaving and he really doesn't want to deal with that after the long day of work. Twelve stories of stairs seems a much more desirable option than being stuffed into an elevator with people he doesn't particularly care for.)

 

He jogs to catch the bus lest it leave without him; he shuffles to the back again, taking a seat in the now-empty row he'd been in before. Futakuchi only briefly wonders where the man from before is before he spots him running just a short distance away.

The man squeezes past the seats, pausing at Futakuchi's row and giving Futakuchi a confused look, as if he'd never found someone in that seat before. Futakuchi pats the bench next to him, and the man takes the seat as the bus starts moving.

While the silence was still pleasant and more than welcome, Futakuchi can't help but try to start conversation when the man next to him yawns.

"Long day?"

Although clearly surprised by the question, he nods with a little "mhmm".

Futakuchi takes a closer look at the man, part of him trying to figure out what would make him tick, another part of him warily wondering if it would be a terrible idea to try. He spots a badge on a lanyard hanging around his neck, but it’s not anything too detailed, simply reading "Theater Staff" in bold letters at the top, followed by the name "Aone" beneath it in a smaller font.

Futakuchi gestures to it and asked, "Aone, is it?"

Startled, he nods before looking down at the badge and muttering, "Forgot to put it away."

"So you work at the theater?" Futakuchi really isn’t sure what’s so compelling about small talk with this stranger, but he pushes on, figuring it’s too late to awkwardly back out now.

"Mhmm."

"I have a friend who directs a lot of plays there, name's Ennoshita, you might know him."

Aone simply nods and the corners of his mouth twitch upward just slightly in a kind of fond, yet fleeting, smile. They fall comfortably back into silence until the bus pulls to a stop near Futakuchi's apartment.

"Well, here's my stop." Futakuchi stands, and Aone rises to let him out of the row. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow, Aone."

"Your name?"

Futakuchi freezes, surprised that Aone even wants to know. "Futakuchi."

"Thanks."

"Yeah. See you tomorrow."

Futakuchi supposes the bus rides to work would be a little more bearable than he'd been fearing.


	2. Prologue: Day 23

**Day 23**

 

A few weeks pass and Futakuchi’s new routine forms an easy rhythm: he boards the bus in the morning, takes the seat next to Aone, maybe makes some small talk, arrives at work, gets scolded for being sassy, gets back on the bus, sits next to Aone, makes more small talk, and says goodbye until the next morning. The small talk is still mostly one-sided, since Aone’s not really the talkative type, but Futakuchi doesn't mind. He just appreciates that someone is willing and seemingly happy to listen, but then perfectly content with not talking at all.

Even when people stop taking the bus and seats elsewhere become available, Futakuchi still chooses to sit with Aone. Aone seems happy about it.

Futakuchi grows so used to Aone being on the bus with him that he's actually worried when Aone doesn't get on it one night. Futakuchi's not exactly one to be concerned about other people, especially people he'd only just met, but he can't help but hope that Aone wasn't sick or something -- there's a fairly nasty flu going around, after all. He'd heard that it's even sending some people to the hospital with high fevers.

His worries are put to rest when he climbs on the bus the next morning and finds Aone in his usual spot.

"Good morning," Futakuchi greets, trying not to make his relief apparent in his voice.

Aone looks over at him and smiles sleepily.

Trying to stay casual, Futakuchi asks, "Long night?"

"Closing night." Aone stifles a yawn.

"Ah, gotcha."

Silence.

Mere minutes into their trip, Futakuchi feels a weight slump against his shoulder and tries not to jump at the contact. He really hadn’t expected Aone to fall asleep on him, but he doesn't dare to wake him up until their stop, even when Aone's hair tickles his neck and he starts snoring softly.

Futakuchi toys with the idea that Aone’s more like a giant teddy bear than he lets on, but he stores that train of thought for another time; it’s hardly appropriate to think of strangers like that, Futakuchi reasons. But are they really strangers at this point?

After shaking Aone awake, they leave the bus and it’s dwindling passengers together as usual, but Futakuchi stops suddenly in his tracks before they part ways for the day.

"Don't overwork yourself, okay? Staying healthy is more important than working overtime."

Aone nods once before moving to continue his short walk to the theater.

Futakuchi surprises himself when he blurts, "Want to get coffee or something sometime?"

If there’s one thing Futakuchi knows for sure about Aone, it’s that he’s not very expressive; the look of surprise on Aone's face was plenty obvious to Futakuchi. With an eager nod and a quick exchange of phone numbers, both continue their walks to work, reveling in the feeling of the small step toward no longer being strangers that happen to chat a little on the bus.


	3. Prologue: Day 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the salt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey, it's the biggest part of the establishment arc~

**Day 25**

 

Futakuchi is usually proud of his attention to detail and observant nature, but when his usual background noise of whatever channel his television happens to be set to is no longer playing a random movie but rather an extremely urgent-sounding news report, he wonders why he hadn’t noticed that something was horribly wrong earlier.

"...with more reports of the rabies-like sickness reaching epidemic levels, it is advisable that anyone experiencing a fever, loss of dexterity in extremities, and loss of appetite go to a hospital immediately. Some vaccines are currently being administered to the public. However, they currently only have an effect before escalation of the virus. Escalation includes extreme light sensitivity, loss of major senses, and predatory behavior toward--"

Futakuchi's phone rings in his pocket, drowning out the voice of the news reporter.

He answers it without looking at the caller ID, "Hello?"

An all-too-familiar voice responds, accompanied by the sound of cabinets closing, "Hey, Kenji. How's life?"

"Shigeru?"

"Yup."

"Why are you calling me?" Futakuchi turns off the TV, silencing the reporters' discussion of the latest violent incidents revolving around the spreading virus: gruesome night attacks by infected people, apparently. He’s glad for the excuse to turn it off; the details were starting to make him feel sick.

There’s a pause, followed by the staticky sound of the phone receiver rubbing against fabric. "Just checking up on you. Making sure the virus didn't get you or something, I don't know."

"Thanks, I guess?"

"Are you ever going to come get the rest of your stuff?"

Futakuchi rolls his eyes. He should have known that Yahaba wouldn't just casually call him; he’s the kind of person who wanted things done at his convenience. Sarcastically, he replied, "Yeah, sure. I'll get to that right now, since there's a public service announcement telling everyone to only leave their homes when absolutely necessary. Who’s the med student here?"

"M'kay."

"Good talk."

Just as Futakuchi considers ending the call, Yahaba yells, "Wait!"

"What do you want?"

"I was supposed to ask you what your plan for leaving town was. You heard about the evacuation plan, I assume?" Yahaba’s voice becomes just slightly muffled as he speaks.

"No, I haven’t. I can’t stomach the news right now."

"Well, the district officials are organizing a plan that will take groups of people out of Sendai, but each person has to be screened and if they come up with any trace of the virus they’re turned away. Doctors and medical students have a priority, so I guess I’m just spreading the news. I think the group I’m in is trying to leave next Tuesday if you want to join us."

Futakuchi checks his pockets for his keys and wallet before heading for the front door. "I'll think about it. I'm heading to work so I guess I'll let you know later, okay?"

"Okay," Yahaba sighs on the other end of the line. "Talk to you later then."

Futakuchi struggles to lock his door with the phone in his other hand. "Yeah... thanks."

"No problem, Kenji." The call disconnects with a beep.

Futakuchi jogs to the bus stop, hoping he hasn't missed the bus. Luckily it was running a few minutes late, and Futakuchi boards with a nod to the driver before taking his usual seat next to Aone. The bus is half empty, with most of the usual passengers either choosing to stay home or already falling ill.

Futakuchi’s surprised when Aone pokes his arm and holds out his phone for him to read the screen. On the screen there’s a text exchange with "Shouyou":

 

** > I found a bunch of people to get out of town with! They said there's room for some more people, so I was wondering if you wanted to come with?**

_ > Sure _

** > Yay! If there's anyone else you want to bring, go ahead and ask them too. Just be sure to pack up some nece... nessess... IMPORTANT stuff like food and stuff just in case**

**Autocorrect really isn't helping me lol**

_ > Okay _

** > We'll meet at my apartment next Tuesday as soon as you’re free, okay? I can grab Kame-chan for you too, since you can't really carry a turtle around all day**

_ > Thanks _

 

Futakuchi snorts. "You have a turtle you effectively named 'Turtle-chan'?"

Aone puts a large hand over Futakuchi's face and pushes him away while he continues laughing.

Once Futakuchi controls his giggles, he asks, "So is this an offer to tag along?"

Aone nods.

"I think I'd rather travel with you than my ex, so I'll accept your offer. Next Tuesday, right?"

 

As the pair leaves the bus, Futakuchi starts planning a list of supplies they’ll need to pack. They decide that they’ll skip work and spend a few days gathering essentials: clothing, non-perishable food, bottled water, first-aid supplies (an insistence by Aone) and meet after going to work one last time to scavenge anything else on the appointed meeting day.

Once they part ways and Futakuchi pushes through the glass front doors to the publishing house, he’s greeted by an unusually crowded front lobby, bustling with employees and doctors in sterile masks. He narrowly avoids running into one of the medical staff, who brushes past him with a container full of vials, and grabs the nearest of his coworkers.

“What the hell’s going on here?” Futakuchi frantically asks the bewildered woman he’d turned around.

She brushes his hand from her shoulder. “Didn’t you hear? They’re issuing vaccines for the virus publicly starting today. We can’t get to work until we’ve gotten a dose.”

Before Futakuchi can reply, they’re herded into lines by scrubs-clad personnel, who then start quickly and expertly administering the vaccine.

If there’s one thing Futakuchi wished he’d been warned about, it was the certainty of getting a shot that morning. Not that he has a particular aversion to needles, just that getting poked before he’s even finished his third cup of coffee is not exactly an ideal way to spend his morning.

The lines move relatively quickly, and once Futakuchi reaches the front he’s thoroughly prepared himself to receive his vaccine and it’s over quickly; he’s admittedly preoccupied wondering if this same kind of thing is happening at the theater as well and he loiters in the lobby as the last few people get their shots. He doesn’t immediately recognize the man in scrubs who approaches him and shoves a small box into his chest.

“Keep quiet about this,” he hisses to Futakuchi.

“Shigeru?”

“Is that seriously the only way you’re going to greet me now?” Yahaba slides the mask covering his nose down to his chin so Futakuchi can see his scowl.

Futakuchi ignores the question, taking a closer look at the box. It’s light-weight, but he can hear the quiet rattling of plastic inside as he wraps his coat around it. “What’s this for?”

Yahaba rolls his eyes and sighs. “It’s about two months'-worth in vaccines. You have to take another shot every two weeks, I’m sure you know how.”

“Only because I so graciously volunteered for your practice, Doc.” Futakuchi smirks and looks down his nose at Yahaba, emphasizing the little bit of height he has over his ex. “The scrubs suit you, by the way.”

Yahaba straightens up in response. “Not here to flirt, _Kenji_.”

“But you’re here sneaking me extra vaccines?”

“I can take them back if you don’t want them, you know.”

“No no, it’s just flattering that you still care,” Futakuchi teases, “even if you have a real tsundere way of showing it.”

“Are you done yet?” Yahaba glares at him, hands on his hips.

Futakuchi shrugs. “Yeah, I guess I could be.” He lowers his voice before continuing, “Thanks again, I really mean it.”

“I’m just helping your sorry ass as much as I can, I guess.”

“You don’t have to though. I’m sure I could--”

Yahaba cuts him off, “Just let me do this, Kenji,” his voice trails off to a mumble, “it’s the least I could do. Just… let me know about Tuesday, yeah?”

Before Futakuchi can respond with more than a weak “okay”, Yahaba turns on his heel and briskly walks away to help the other visitors finish packing up the makeshift clinic. Clutching his coat-bundle, Futakuchi begins the trek up the stairs to the twelfth floor.

He tries to ignore the guilt gnawing at his heart and weighing down his steps, but the little box hiding in this coat reminds him that he’ll owe Yahaba a favor at the very least, maybe one last dinner together too.


	4. Prologue: Day 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little chapter this time, I promise we're almost done with the exposition

**Day 31**

 

With his bags packed with his essentials, including plenty of packaged snacks (and of course gummies because he couldn’t just leave perfectly good gummies behind), clothing sets bundled together as tightly as he could manage, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a box of bandages, and the box Yahaba had smuggled for him, Futakuchi settles on the floor of his apartment and switches on the television.

As became usual, every channel was stuck playing the local news, which Futakuchi had only recently started paying closer attention to. According to the reports, the vaccines that had been administered throughout the district and surrounding areas only worked for about fifty percent of the people who received them, even accelerating the onset of symptoms in some cases.

Futakuchi forces himself to watch the more gruesome reports too, although his stomach wishes he wouldn’t.

To call the wandering infected people “zombies” is not quite appropriate, but Futakuchi can’t put a better label on the leathery-skinned, numb-limbed, sight-deprived, wildly carnivorous _things_ anyway. As far as anyone could tell, they can’t go out in the sunlight without an extreme reaction, so it’s really most dangerous to go out at night. A strict curfew had been put in place in an attempt to cut down on some of the brutal attacks, but there are still new incidents on the news every day that make Futakuchi’s skin crawl.

There aren’t many survivors of the attacks, if the newly-infected people now with bites counted as “survivors”.

While the reporter reminds everyone that curfew is quickly approaching, Futakuchi taps out a text:

_ > Ready for tomorrow? _

He doesn’t even wait a full minute before getting a response. Two of them, even.

** > Yeah.**

**Did you remember first-aid supplies?**

One thing that continues to amuse Futakuchi is that Aone is a double-texter, sometimes even sending up to three or four short messages all in a row, all with perfect grammar.

_ > Of course. How could I forget? _

Returning his attention to the TV, Futakuchi is greeted by a message he hadn’t yet seen: “The Sendai Evacuation Plan is unfortunately ending tomorrow, and the area will be under strict quarantine due to the rapidity of the virus’ spread increasing exponentially over the last few days. Everyone who wishes to be screened to leave the area must do so before dark. After 19:00 the lockdown begins.”

Futakuchi’s fingers dial Aone’s number before the announcement finishes; Aone picks up before the first ring ends.

“Are you watching the news, Aone?” Futakuchi’s voice comes out more quietly and unsure than he’d intended.

“Mhmm,” Aone’s answer was no surprise to Futakuchi. What else would he be doing?

“Where does Shouyou live again? We’re meeting at his apartment tomorrow still, right?”

“About half a kilometer from the theater.” Aone’s response comforts Futakuchi more than he thought it would have.

“So, tomorrow,” Futakuchi starts. He sucks in a deep breath before continuing, just so he sounds more confident, “We’ll take the bus to the usual stop and find anything else that may be useful, then head straight to Shouyou’s, meet up with everyone else and get out of here by sundown, right?”

“Mhmm.”

Futakuchi shuts off the TV, sitting in silence for a moment before asking one more question, “See you tomorrow then?”

“Of course.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this we're at the end of the establishment arc~  
> On to the meat of the story next chapter~


	5. Day 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never doubt your big friendly giant friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops i meant to have this up yesterday but i wasted entirely too much time crying about FFXV

**Day 32**

 

Futakuchi and Aone's bus ride to their usual stop is eerily quiet on evacuation day. Even the bus driver looks pale and sickly, though he seems resigned to his fate. After last night’s lockdown announcement, gangs of people were already resorting to intimidation tactics to hoard food and other supplies from people who couldn't fight back.

Most of Futakuchi's coworkers left in town refuse to come anywhere near the publishing house, and most of the building's maintenance crew fell ill weeks ago. By Tuesday, no one cares to question the backpack and duffel bag of supplies Futakuchi comes in with, everyone else there is either accepting that they’ll be stuck in the quarantine, or frantically gathering important documents to take with them.

Futakuchi scours the building for anything he could possibly use, ultimately stuffing more food packages from a busted vending machine into the duffel bag until he could barely zip it closed.

With autumn starting to turn to winter and the days growing shorter, the hours until the lockdown begins quickly dwindle away. Just before the sun starts to set, Futakuchi sends a text to Aone:

 

_      > You done? _

** > Yeah. You?**

_      > Yep. Want to head out? _

** > Sure**

_      > I'll meet you at the entrance to the office, I want to see if there's anything in my boss' desk that'll be useful _

** > Okay  
** **Careful on the stairs**

 

Futakuchi slings his bags of supplies over his shoulder and rifles through his boss' desk. For the most part, the things he finds are useless, but he does manage to find a set of keys to the building, probably left behind by the maintenance crew. Figuring that’s the most useful thing in the drawers, he swipes them and drops them into his jacket pocket. Just in case, he justifies.

Bidding a final farewell to the now-empty twelfth floor, Futakuchi starts down the stairs -- the elevator is out of service for safety reasons, not that he would have taken it anyway. He's taken the stairs enough to know which spots to avoid, even with the recent water damage in the building making some of them unstable.

Or so he thinks.

With a creak and a harsh crack, Futakuchi's foot breaks straight through one of the last steps. Sharp pain radiates through his leg from his ankle, which he could feel is bent awkwardly in the space under the step. He tries pulling his leg back out of the hole without much success, scraping the skin of his leg against the wood as he pulls.

He sees that beyond the glass doors of the building that the sun starts to fall below the horizon, and he starts panicking, struggling to free his leg as the amount of sunlight streaming into the building steadily decreases, but to no avail as the added mass of his bags makes leverage more difficult than it should be.

"Of-fucking-course this has to happen to me," Futakuchi mutters to himself as he continues struggling, subsequently digging splinters deeper into his leg. "Rabid, walking corpses are walking around out there attacking people and I go and fall not down, but  _ into _ the stairs on the last day I'm even here. Fucking wonderful. Good job, Kenji. Really outdid yourself this time."

Just as he starts to accept the fact that he’s going to be stuck in the stairs forever, the doors creak open. Futakuchi braces himself for the worst, but it’s Aone, who rushes over to him.

"Aone!" Futakuchi could cry from the pure relief that washes over him. He attempts to pull his leg free once more, wincing in pain as his foot catches the edges of the hole and pulls at his ankle.

Aone rests his hands on Futakuchi's shoulders. "Relax," he instructs sternly. Futakuchi inhales a deep breath and tries as best he can to do what he’s told, but when Aone twists his leg to pull his foot from the hole, he can't hold back the pained yell.

Futakuchi knows full well that, like this, he'd just be a burden to Aone and the rest of the group they’re set to meet, even if there was still enough time to walk the half kilometer to Shouyou’s apartment and then to the screening.

However, before Futakuchi can voice any concerns, Aone hoists him and the supplies over his shoulder and starts carrying him to the door.

"Do you really expect to carry me all the way to the meeting place? Just take the supplies and go, jeez."

"No."

"You must have a death wish, then. Have you never seen a zombie movie? This is how people die in situations like this, Aone!" Futakuchi squirms, trying to get Aone to put him down. The streets are already almost completely dark, but Aone continues down the road anyway, adjusting his grip on Futakuchi. "This is..." Futakuchi pauses his squirming to sigh, "this is an apocalypse, Aone. Just leave me and go while you can."

"No." Aone's grip tightens around Futakuchi even more; it no longer feels like simply a restraint, but more like a comforting gesture.

Aone turns down the street toward the theater, prompting more protest from Futakuchi, "What are you going to do with me anyway? We don't have any means to defend ourselves, and I can't fight even if we did, we've got little more than some snack foods and band-aids as far as I know, and there's pissed-off groups of people who won't get to evacuate who are intimidating anyone who doesn't give them food or services. The vaccine is expensive and hard to get and it's not like we have paying jobs anymore. And, to top it off, the people who are infected are little more than flesh-eating corpses. We're both going to die if you don't just go. Just leave me here and go to the meeting point while you have a chance, Aone."

By the time Futakuchi finishes his rant and hangs limp over Aone's shoulder, Aone kicks open the door to the theater and shoulders it shut behind them. He manages to wedge a bar into the door handles with his free hand and carries Futakuchi to the stage, where he sets down his bitter, injured cargo.

Futakuchi watches as Aone opens a hidden door in the stage floor and drops their bags into the space below. Aone returns to Futakuchi, scooping him up like a child to carry him over to the hole. Sitting on the edge, Futakuchi tries to get a better look in as Aone lowers himself in first before he reaches up to help gently guide Futakuchi down after him.

Aone pulls the trap door shut again before he flicks on a small battery-powered floodlight in the corner of the space.

From his spot on the floor, Futakuchi notes that the crawlspace is actually rather large -- almost tall enough for Aone to stand upright in -- and had quite a bit more work done to it already than he would have expected. The walls of the area are insulated and sealed from moisture, the floors freshly-swept to be free of debris, and there’s already a small stash of food and water, along with all kinds of medical supplies and two more doses of the vaccine (wherever Aone managed to find those) -- enough for an extra two weeks between the two of them. Aside from the basic supplies, two sleeping bags are laid out, and what seems to be portable chargers sat next to the floodlight.

Aone really had prepared for the worst.

Futakuchi really feels terrible about having doubted Aone, but as Aone kneels by his leg and un-twists his ankle to set it back into the right position, all he can force himself to ask is "Why?"

Aone doesn't so much as glance up from his work as he pulls splinters from Futakuchi's leg. After a long silence only punctuated by pained hissing from Futakuchi, Aone explains simply, "You sat and talked with me when no one else would."

"What?" Futakuchi winces as Aone starts disinfecting his wounds. "What does that have to do with this situation?"

There’s another long pause as Aone wraps Futakuchi's leg and ankle. He finally looks up from his handiwork to look straight into Futakuchi's eyes and answer, "You helped me, so I'm going to help you."

Futakuchi averts his gaze quickly. "Th-thanks. But as soon as this is healed, we're getting out of here, okay?"

"Mhmm."


	6. Day 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now with feelings™

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huuuge thanks to everyone who's been commenting on this! y'all are the best <3
> 
> and uh... this is the first chapter with one of those warnings i talked about at the very beginning of the fic. the warning this time is for injection anxiety, and somewhat detailed description of the scene, so if you want to skip over it the beginning is marked with ** and the end is with ***.

**Day 39**

 

Nearly a week into hiding, Futakuchi feels like shit. It’s not that he’s getting sick -- he hasn't been exposed to any known sources of the virus since Aone rescued him and his vaccine is still current -- it’s simply the fact that he’s utterly helpless while he waits for his leg to heal. Whenever he tries to get up and walk, even if it was just a few feet, Aone jumps to his side and either sits him back down or ever so carefully helps him stand and then practically carries him to where he needs to go. Aone knows full well that Futakuchi’s frustrated, but he refuses to give in.

It was a long week, and the tension growing between them isn't doing anything to aid the situation.

On their sixth night (Futakuchi keeps track with his phone on the rare occasions they had them on since Aone insists on saving their charge "just in case"), Futakuchi can't sleep. It’s a combination of things causing his restlessness: of course his leg still aches, but it’s also getting colder every night and just a sleeping bag doesn't do much to keep the chill out. Those factors just add to his irritation at his own helplessness and the growing paranoia that they'd be stuck in the theater until they die, and Futakuchi just can't stare at the ceiling of their space in silence anymore.

So he cries in anguish and throws his arms over his face, prompting a simple "hmm?" from a few feet to his left.

A heavy silence settles over the pair. Futakuchi knows Aone will just wait for a response, but he waits several minutes before asking in a cracked whisper, "Why are you waiting for me? You could have met with Shouyou and just gotten out of here. You can escape."

Aone doesn't respond, but Futakuchi hears him shifting somewhere to the side. He doesn't bother moving his arms to look.

"Why are you helping me so much anyway? I can't do anything for you, especially not like this." Futakuchi chews his lip, fighting against the tears welling up and threatening to fall. "If I were you, I would leave me behind."

Still no response from Aone, save for more shuffling. He gently nudges Futakuchi’s arms away from his face, but Futakuchi squeezes his eyes shut, as if not looking at Aone is going to solve his problems. He knows it’s childish, but he doesn’t want to see Aone  _ pitying _ him even more than he already has.

Another few seconds of silence pass, weighing on Futakuchi as he tries to think of something,  _ anything _ to say to just make Aone go back to sleep, not to worry about him, assure him that this feeling of utter hopelessness will pass; he doesn’t notice the tears tracking down his face until Aone brushes one away, the rough pad of his thumb against his cheekbone eliciting a choked sound somewhere between a whimper and a sob from Futakuchi’s throat.

Futakuchi doesn’t resist as Aone helps him into a sitting position, but he still doesn’t open his eyes, ashamed that he’s having this kind of breakdown. He’s been careful in the last few years to be more measured in his emotions -- he knows he’s volatile, confrontational and speaks before he thinks when he really gets going. He knows it’s that that pushes people away, makes most of his previous relationships end in fights, makes it hard to even get along with new people.

Yet, in Aone’s comforting hold, his hand stroking Futakuchi’s hair and the low rumbling of his voice assuring Futakuchi that he’s not going anywhere, Futakuchi cries until he can’t anymore, finally falling asleep in the arms of this man he still hardly knows.

 

 

Futakuchi wakes when Aone’s arm leaves the spot at his waist where it had been resting for the rest of the night. He’s not about to admit that part of him wants it back, especially when he’s still struggling to come to terms with the fact that he’d literally cried himself to sleep the night before.

He sits up and spots Aone rummaging through their dwindling supplies. He apparently finds what he’d been looking for and brings a small box back to Futakuchi, sitting beside him with his own. Opening it, Futakuchi finds a printed instruction pamphlet, a pair of alcohol prep pads, a bandage, and a pre-measured, capped syringe in a sealed plastic packaging.

“Ah, it’s vaccine day isn’t it?”

Aone simply nods stiffly in response as he carefully reads the pamphlet. Futakuchi swears he sees Aone shaking ever so slightly, but dismisses that detail, blaming the morning chill seeping into their hiding space.

Skimming over the print, Futakuchi notes that the vaccine they’d been given isn’t the exact same as the ones they’d been issued two weeks prior: these ones are cut with an oil, allowing them to be taken intramuscularly, a detail he didn’t realize he would remember or ever care about back when Yahaba had been in his first years of med school and learning about injections and blood work. The nerves he hadn’t realized he had subside, knowing this would be a lot easier than he’d been believing.

As he finishes skimming the directions and warnings to be sure he’s not missing any major details, Futakuchi braces himself for the chill -- from what the pamphlet says and what he remembers from Yahaba, intramuscular self-injections are easiest when taken in the thigh -- and pushes his pants to his knees. He can  _ feel _ Aone’s surprised stare, but he refuses to make any kind of contact with the man next to him until he’s finished.

 

******

 

Futakuchi knows the routine; he’s seen Yahaba and a bunch of his old classmates do it plenty of times on volunteer test subjects (including Futakuchi in a few cases). He estimates a spot in the middle of this thigh as the directions suggested, swabs the area with the alcohol pad, opens the packaging on the syringe and twists off the cap covering the needle. Careful to keep the syringe perpendicular to the skin as he lines up the shot between his other hand’s thumb and forefinger, he takes a deep breath before pressing into the skin. Part of his brain screams for him to stop, that he’s going to hurt himself, but he grits his teeth and pushes a little harder, until the sting becomes a different feeling altogether as he breaks the surface. It’s uncomfortable, but oddly satisfying to Futakuchi as he pushes the needle a little deeper into the muscle of his thigh.

Once he’s depressed the contents of the syringe and withdraws it from his leg, he quickly covers the bead of blood and oil with the bandage, pressing the heel of his palm to the area to ease the discomfort from the intruding fluid before tugging his pants back up to his hips. He recaps the syringe and drops it and the packaging from the other supplies back into their box and sits back with a sigh.

After a minute or so to be sure he doesn’t disturb Aone while he presumably does his own shot, Futakuchi turns to see how he’s doing.

What he finds isn’t what he’d expected at all.

Aone’s very visibly shaking, breathing heavily, clutching the syringe in one hand and covering his face with the other. Daring a glance at his leg, Futakuchi notices a cluster of several little red marks, some bleeding ever so slightly -- failed attempts.

“Aone?” Futakuchi tentatively reaches over to place a hand on his shoulder. At the contact, Aone stiffens. Lost for what to say, Futakuchi asks lamely, “You doing okay?”

Aone shakes his head and takes a shaky breath. “I can’t do it.”

Unsure of what else he can do, Futakuchi digs his unused alcohol pad from his box and coaxes Aone to loosen his grip on the syringe. If there’s any way to help Aone, this is it, he figures.

Carefully rising to his knees so as not to hurt his injured leg, Futakuchi positions himself so he’s got a leg on either side of Aone’s, hovering above the other’s knee. “Relax, it’ll be done before you know it,” Futakuchi says, cleaning the area where Aone had failed.

Working as quickly as possible, he lines up the needle between his index finger and thumb, just as he had for himself, and presses it to the skin of the other’s leg. Without the instinctive warning to stop, he notices it’s actually a lot easier to break the skin, and steadily injects the vaccine before Aone can tense again.

 

*******

 

He places the bandage over the area and presses on it lightly, just as he’d done with his own, pushing aside the nagging that he’s literally massaging the bare thigh of a guy he hardly knows. “It’s done, Aone.”

When Aone doesn’t respond, doesn’t even remove his hand from his face, Futakuchi reaches out with his free hand to move it away.

Without his hand covering his face, Aone’s eyes are red and definitely glassy-looking. Futakuchi immediately feels guilty for exposing him, especially when he notices the dusting of color on the tips of Aone’s ears and rising on his cheeks.

“Thank you,” Aone murmurs, avoiding eye contact.

Futakuchi squeezes his hand lightly, only just realizing he’s still lightly holding it, and offers a light smile. “I’m just glad I could help you with something.”

After a couple of seconds’ pause, Aone shifts awkwardly, suddenly reminding Futakuchi that he’s literally not only straddling the other man’s half-bare leg, but also massaging it with one hand and holding Aone’s hand with the other.

“Oh! Uh...” Futakuchi jerks his hands away and flops back to his previous spot beside Aone, fixing his eyes on the light in the corner. “Sorry about that.”

As he pushes himself from the floor, Aone returns a simple “it’s alright” before heading to their supplies again. Tossing a water bottle to Futakuchi, he starts gathering some kind of meal for the pair, settling on some canned fruit and crackers.

When Aone returns to his previous spot beside Futakuchi, their shoulders pressed together just slightly, Futakuchi thinks that maybe -- just  _ maybe _ \-- Aone doesn’t really consider them to be friendly strangers anymore.

He’ll have to ask just what they are later; surviving another day comes first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh, this one took a little longer than i wanted. it was a little difficult to get the feelings i wanted, and idk if i even got it, but yaknow. nothing's worse than a blank page, right?
> 
> (and on the ** scene: too specific? i apologize if it was, i have to do self-injections every week and they're admittedly really difficult for me to handle sometimes so that was kind of a vent for me, whoops)
> 
> back to fluff next time~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this far! The rest of the story is actively in the revision stage, so updates will be sooner rather than later!
> 
> Come scream with me on tumblr~  
> leeva-art.tumblr.com


End file.
